Undercurrent
by kikispeachdelivery
Summary: The sleepless nights, the nightmares and cold panic, the deep weariness that accompanies it all... it never ends, and Maverick would rather pretend it's under control than face the truth. (Castle/Maverick, contains mentions of past torture)


**Undercurrent**

* * *

The first time was a close call.

Maverick was making an effort to get to know everyone in Rainbow, but he tended to gravitate towards his fellow Americans. Clash spent a lot of time with the SAS, even if she's his partner in the GSUTR. Although at large he'd seen women interact frequently with other CTUs than the men, probably because there weren't that many women in there.

Seated on one of the worn armchairs in a corner of the TV room, Maverick had just given up the pretense of reading in favour of openly studying the SWAT team. Thermite, Pulse and Ash were engaged in yet another of their endless discussions about the most random things. This time it was about which superhero would be the best to defeat Godzilla, but last time it had been about who could come up with the most disgusting and yet edible idea for a new pizza that nobody would eat. These discussions would go on for hours, intermittently, seemingly finished until one of them brought up a new idea they had. Maverick was a bit surprised Ash was such a laid back person amongst her team mates, since she appeared to be Six's right hand.

The other member of the SWAT is Castle, who is quieter than his team mates and is rapidly becoming Maverick's silent companion in reading. He's also occasionally asked to act as a referee for the other three's discussions when they cannot agree on something. He's also pretty good at poker, as Maverick discovered last night. However, they got so focused on out-bluffing each other that the Russian sniper wiped the floor with them. Maverick had been told that was quite normal.

Valkyrie was on another couch, laptop balanced on one of the armrests as she studied the latest reports for their next mission. At least, that was what she claimed. Maverick doubted intel could tear those soft smiles from her every once in a while. Whatever she was really doing, it was making her very happy. He had a lot of respect for her; first woman who made it into the Navy Seals. Speaking of Seals, her counterpart just walked into the room wearing only swimming trunks and flip flops.

"Anyone up for a bit of competitive swimming?" Blackbeard asked to his usual swimming pool partners. Valkyrie closed her laptop and went to change, but Castle didn't look like he wanted to move from his spot. "Miles, you wanna join?"

"So you both can swim in circles around me again? Nah, man, I'll pass"

"What about you?" Blackbeard asked to Maverick. "Do they teach you to swim in the Delta Force?"

They constantly teased each other about their respective units despite getting along just fine; typical banter. Same with his supposed rivalry with Castle, trying to throw each other off balance by speaking different languages during the same conversation. So far they considered it a stalemate.

A feeling not unlike that of iced pinpricks settled over him, but Maverick forced out a congenial smile. "Sure, but unlike Seals we don't belong in water."

Blackbeard laughed and promised to go soft on him if he ever felt like accepting the invitation. Maverick nodded jerkily and returned to his reading, barely seeing the print before his eyes. After a couple of deep breaths his jumbled thoughts were almost back to normal and nobody was none the wiser.

"You look distracted, is Korean grammar too difficult for you?" He could hear the smirk in Castle's voice, even though the man didn't look up from his book for a moment. "I could help you with that if you ask nicely."

"당연히 아니지 _(Of course not),_ " Maverick snorted. "I think you might be projecting. Is Farsi being too hard for you?"

"اصلا _(Not at all),_ " Castle shot back. His accent wasn't half bad for a beginner.

His competitive streak was now out on full, leaving no space for the dread that had taken over him before. He had a book to read and master before Castle finished his. The rest of the participants in their book club would probably groan in exasperation when they began again comparing the original to the translations, but that was half the fun after all. So Maverick went back to deciphering his copy of text, all residual fear now gone for good.

* * *

The second time it was an accident. Probably.

Swimming turned out to be a more popular activity than he anticipated in the base. All his friends seemed to love going to the pool and insisted on inviting him to come along. Avoidance would not work, he was bound to run into either Castle, or Blackbeard, or Glaz at any moment in the base. Besides, he did enjoy their company, it was just he didn't want to set foot near the swimming pool if he could help it. Maverick had a whole slew of excuses ready to deploy at any moment, and eventually people either got the hint or got tired of his excuses and stopped asking him to come to the pool. He considered it a victory.

Maverick felt calmer these days, safer. He was fitting in nicely in Rainbow, his language competition with Castle was still going strong, and the only water he had to deal with came from the shower, which he could regulate and deal with at his own pace. He still didn't let his guard down completely, because he was utterly incapable of doing so. Not with this job, not after being in hostile territory for two years without any support except his wits. And most definitely not when Bandit had been skulking around the base the day before. Trouble tended to follow after that.

It was late in the afternoon and after finishing with his training Maverick was at loss for what to do. In Kabul he'd probably be preparing for a Buzkashi match, or tending to his horse. He missed riding and playing. He even missed his usual horse, whom he named Hest because he couldn't come up with anything better and he didn't want to name the horse something too American. That would have been like painting a target on his back. Fuck, he missed that damn horse.

At loss of what to do and not wanting to get bogged down by sentimentalisms and nostalgia, he headed to the workshop. He could finally improve his blowtorch as he'd been meaning to do so it would last longer. The door was ajar but he thought nothing of it, too busy thinking of the materials he would need for this upgrade. So when he opened the door, the cold water hitting him from above caught him completely off guard. He struggled to breathe, flashes of a black cloth covering his face and his ears ringing with the laughter in the background. Instinctively he opened his mouth, but still no air was getting to his lungs. He was going to suffocate.

"Hey Jäger, what do you... shit, you're not Jäger." Bandit stood in front of him, laughing like a hyena and making no effort to hide the fact he'd been the one to put the water bucket on that door.

Maverick stared at the German prankster, unable to register what he was saying to him over the sound of his own frenzied heartbeat. He finally took a shaky breath, the oxygen kickstarting his fight or flight response. All of his anger and pent-up rage were poured into the punch he delivered. He stormed off afterwards, his face a mask of fury to hide how badly shaken he was.

An hour later he was still sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed as he looked blankly ahead. That was how Castle found him, the sound of the door making him snap out of the vicious spiral of thoughts he'd fallen in.

"Hey man there you are! I couldn't find you anywhere." At that point Castle noticed Maverick's only reaction was to blink and slowly look up at him. "Everything ok?"

Absolutely not. There was a knot of slimy dread tightly wound around his throat, so it took him a while to be able to answer. Sensing his agitation, Castle sat down by his side, waiting patiently.

"I think I broke Bandit's nose."

"Ah, so that's why Doc was yelling at him." He tentatively put his hand on Maverick's arm. "You wouldn't be the first who's done that."

Castle looked at him, a perfect cue for Maverick to say anything else he needed to get off his chest. And deep down he wanted to do it. But he couldn't. The moment stretched for too long and then it passed. Castle retired his hand from his arm and Maverick missed the contact. He had no idea a simple touch could help him ground himself so much.

"Come, I overheard Dokkaebi complaining it was her turn to cook. Help me prevent a disaster." Castle offered him a distraction and Maverick grasped at it like a lifeline.

"Sure. Have you tried Kabuli Palaw before? I think we might have the ingredients to cook it properly."

Cooking with Castle was great and dinner itself was pleasant enough, everyone grateful to be spared from Dokkaebi's culinary experiments. However, no matter how at ease he felt, that night Maverick was unable to sleep a wink. He wasn't sure of what were half-remembered memories and what were terrified what-ifs, it all mixed together in his mind.

Next morning, when Castle inquired about his eye bags and tired appearance, he blamed it on late night reading. It wasn't the first time he did so, and it would not be the last. Deep down Maverick knew it was unhealthy, but it was much easier to think he just needed to get a grip and have better control of his emotions, then the flashbacks would go away. They didn't, but they became less frequent, and for the moment that was enough.

* * *

The third time was bad luck.

He'd been dispatched on a mission to the coast, where a group of people were being held hostage by terrorists in a luxury yacht. According to Frost, it wasn't the first time Rainbow had to lay siege to a yacht similar to that one. She had been there, and specifically requested Maverick to come with them this time for his blowtorch. The idea was to assault the ship quietly, and to breach reinforced metal his method was much less noisy than Thermite's charges. It was a solid team with a solid plan. And that was the only solid thing about being in open waters.

There was too much ocean all around them, it was making Maverick antsy. He always liked getting into the action, the adrenaline of it, but he'd much rather be back in the base for this one. Miles would be making breakfast right now, and later he'd be doing drills with the recruits. Unlike Miles, Maverick wasn't patient enough for that, but right now it seemed the lesser of two evils. The team was well put together, but he still thought this seemed the type of operation to send the Navy Seals. Except that both of them were on the Ivory Coast, along with the quarrelling Polish sisters and the opinionated Frenchman. And so he was stuck on this floating rust bucket.

They finally arrived at the hostage yacht, an ostentatious piece of work that dwarfed Rainbow's boat. Once they boarded the yacht, the whole team fanned out to do their jobs. IQ scanned for any traps the terrorists may have laid for them, Mute set out jammers to block any enemy transmissions and Frost laid down traps to stop any enemies from escaping. Maverick's job was to work through the reinforced metal walls of the ship, and Glaz was to eliminate as many terrorists as possible before they would breach the room where the hostages were detained. However, the best laid plans of mice and man often go astray, and this was no exception.

The terrorists knew they were coming and were toying with them, playing cat and mouse throughout the ship. In the clamour of firefights, and chasing his targets relentlessly through the empty corridors of the yacht, Maverick forgot about all his worries and became alive with the rush of survival coursing through him. Nothing else existed in that moment except achieving his objective. Finding his balance on the swaying ship was not unlike getting used to riding a horse, and he was quite adept at it. He reached the room on the upper deck where the objectives were, and set to work on the reinforced wall while waiting for Frost and Mute to arrive. An explosion rocked the whole ship, throwing them to the ground as it jereked to the side. It was simply bad luck that Maverick, being the closest to the edge, hit the railing and broke it. He heard Glaz and IQ's worried yelling as he plummeted into the dark waters.

Maverick crashed against the frigid waves and sunk into the sea, darkness quickly clouding his vision in the murky water.

 _(The darkness of a rag over his face, its rank, disgusting smell, the sensation of water pouring over it, the grating sound of their humiliating laughter.)_

Water filled his nose and a familiar burning grew in his lungs as they demanded oxygen. He couldn't move, his extremities locked in place by

 _(shackles)_

blood-curling panic. His heartbeat stopped for a few seconds before it began drumming in a frenzied rhythm. He wasn't breathing, but if he did he would drown. He was going to die. At that moment Maverick started thrashing wildly. Thankfully, his uncoordinated movements propelled him up, the surface not as far away as he thought. He broke through the surface, taking in shaky gulps of air before he went down again amidst his blind thrashing.

 _(Just when he thought it was over, they always did it again, and again, until he passed out)._

He surfaced again, his body feeling like it was made of lead, tired by the frantic movements and numb and stiff due to the coldness of the waters. Through a thick fog, Maverick remembered Frost helping him aboard. When he finally came to, he noticed someone had put a blanket over him so he wouldn't freeze. He had his hands clenched in fists, to stop the trembling. He concentrated on the salty breeze hitting his face, a reminder he was out of that hole. He had been for some time now, and would never go back.

"Are you alright?" Glaz asked. The sniper hadn't stopped observing him for a second, Maverick was aware of that.

"Yeah," he lied. Fresh air on his face, he just had to concentrate on that. "Not fond of the sea, that's all."

The Russian grunted, clearly unconvinced, but he didn't bother him with more questions. He just sat by his side while Maverick missed the scorching heat of the dry winds in Kabul; the air here was too humid to pretend he wasn't still on a boat. In these moments he missed the desert more than ever.

* * *

Back at the base Doc was waiting for them, ushering Maverick into his office as soon as he put foot on land again, no excuses, no promises, nothing. The Frenchman said he was going to give him a complete health check and that was what he did. Maverick could respect his force of will, even if it irritated him to no end to be checked and prodded all over. He was fine.

Apart from some light bruising in his side from hitting the railing, Doc eventually agreed that he was physically unharmed. Maverick wasted no time in hopping out of the examination cot and getting the hell out before Doc decided he wanted to run another test. As he emerged from Doc's office, he saw Glaz quietly talking to Miles. When they saw him coming out of Doc's office, Glaz left, but not before giving Maverick one last worried look.

"Hey, heard you took a dip in the open sea." Miles' presence was like a balm for his frazzled nerves. The man irradiated calm and Maverick wanted to curl up next to him and pretend nothing of this had happened. "Wanna talk about it?"

The beauty of that offer was that Maverick could say no, and Miles would find something to distract him, no judging. Maverick surprised himself by wanting to confide in him.

"We should go somewhere more... private." Opening up to Miles was one thing, but he was utterly incapable of doing it in the middle of a corridor where anyone could pass by at any moment.

They went to Miles' room since it was closer. Maverick had been here on a brief occasion before but he wasn't expecting to feel so at ease. The shelves full of language books, the photos on the wall about old friends and family, the cluttered desk with the laptop still in the same exact position as weeks ago. It all felt familiar somehow.

Maverick sat on the bed, mulling over his story and trying to find a way to start. The words kept getting stuck in his throat, and Miles sat by his side and waited in comfortable silence for him to decide what he wanted to do or say. After a long stretch of silence, the story tumbled out of him thoughtlessly. He didn't stop once, nor did he gloss over any detail as he'd done with the debriefings when he came back. It all came to light: how he saw the signs of the impending doom, but the higher up didn't believe him. Then people started to disappear, leaving no trace behind. All of them Westerners, mostly Americans. Maverick was sent to retrieve an important journalist, but was ultimately unable to. For days, he felt eyes on him wherever he went, always watching and waiting. So he preemptively disappeared himself, blending in with the natives and Kabul's underground life. But eventually they found him.

He remembered being snatched up from his bed in the middle of the night. A scuffle against his assailants, and then a throbbing pain in the back of his skull before darkness claimed him. When he woke up, head pulsing in agony, he was in a dark and dingy cell with rats as his only company. The rats were better than the occasional visits of his captors, who pummel him for information about military supplies and troop movements. Maverick kept his mouth shut, not just because he had no information to give. However, with the passing of days, they grew tired of just beating him and decided to try more cruel methods of interrogation. He spent hours shackled to an old wooden plank, dirty and foul-smelling rag engulfing his face as water was poured over his face until he passed out from the lack of air. He would get splinters stuck in his back and legs from his thrashing, trying to escape the torture. But of course it was to no avail. Waking up aching and panicked in his cell was actually a blessing. And the next day the cycle began again. He lost track of time, uncertain of how many days or weeks he spent like that.

His escape was not an elaborate plan, more like dumb luck. The group that held him prisoner wasn't a tight knit group of comrades but a group of contrary people held together by resentment and fear. The mutiny wasn't a surprise. The new boss dragged him out of his cell and Maverick was convinced that was it, he was going to be executed. So out of desperation he fought off the two guards who had come for him. And won. A third man waiting outside the corridor saw Maverick before he noticed him. The group's new leader was pretty uninterested in whatever it was that his predecessor wanted from Maverick, and the tale of how he'd taken out two of his men, despite being weakened after days of torture and captivity, gained Maverick his respect. So when the Devil offers you a chance, you grab it. That was how Maverick found himself working for them and a free man again.

A dense silence took hold when Maverick stopped talking. He felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders for the first time since he arrived at Rainbow. Exposing himself like this was mildly terrifying though, and Miles was being too quiet.

"Thank you for sharing this with me, Erik." Miles put a hand on his shoulder, hesitantly, like he wasn't sure it would be welcome. Maverick had no qualms sinking back against him, the relief making him giddy. "So that's why you don't like water, right?"

"That's a way of putting it." A very polite way of putting it. Maverick was aware he panicked and got violent on occasion. Just look at what happened with Bandit.

"You know you're not alone, right?" Miles said to him, slinging his arm around Maverick's shoulder in a sort of half hug. "There's more people at the base dealing with PTSD. I think Doc organized a support group, they meet every week and a psychologist comes regularly too."

That was good. He felt foolish for trying to hide the truth for so long, because Miles was being so wonderful about it that he regretted not telling him sooner. "I'll join the group next time they meet."

"Good, that's good. In the meantime, if you have to be near water, we can stick you in those floating thingies for the arms, do you know what I mean? My sister had ones when she was a kid."

The mental image was so ridiculous that Maverick burst out laughing, the hilarity cleansing away the discomfort from re-living his worst memories. When the laughter subsided, he realized they were more or less cuddling in Miles bed.

"I told you the bad, but there were also so many good things in those two years."

"I'd love to hear them," Miles answered. He knew an honest answer when he heard one, so Maverick made himself comfortable in Miles' embrace and launched into a retelling of his favourite moments while he'd been living in Kabul.

If after hours of talking and sharing stories they also shared a brief kiss before parting ways, nobody needed to know. Their bond was still too new, too precious to expose to anyone else. Although it definitely became one of their new favourite memories.


End file.
